


A Single Vowel

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Sexuality Series [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Desire, First Time, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Sexuality, clint is clueless, good therapist, romantic vs sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has to make a list of the things he wants in a relationship so he goes to his closest friends for help and advice.  What he doesn't realize is that he's been dating someone all along.</p><p>This is fourth in my sexuality series and an examination of the difference between sexual desire and romantic desires. As always, it's fluffy with a happy ending because that's how I roll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Single Vowel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a believer in cultural construction of sexuality; here in the US, our culture tells us that you meet someone, feel a surge of lust, and a happily ever after comes next. Our media glorifies love at first sight and hot, fast sex. So this story is me playing with the dimensions of desire, especially the romantic aspects. I have no intention of suggesting that all romantic relationships can make the shift to sexual, just that desire can grow after intimacy rather than the other way around.

_It's not love we don't wish_

_to fall into, but that fear._

_This word is not enough but it will_

_have to do. It's a single_

_vowel in this metallic_

_silence, a mouth that says_

_O again and again in wonder_

_and pain, a breath, a finger_

_grip on a cliffside. You can_

_hold on or let go._

 

_Margaret Atwoo d “Variations on the Word Love”_

 

“I suck at relationships.”

 

Clint shifted in the padded leather seat, crossing his feet at the ankles as he propped them up on a matching ottoman. He exhaled hard, sending the origami crane mobile spinning in the alternate direction; his favorite was the blue paisley one that listed to the left, out of balance.  He had its elliptical pattern memorized from staring up at it as he talked.

 

“As I’ve said before, relationships involve two people; taking the blame on yourself isn’t productive.” Of all the therapists, Gary was the only one who’d offered Clint more than platitudes. A veteran himself, Gary had waited out Clint’s stubborn refusal to talk, and Clint had to admit, the guy did help. Sometimes. More like occasionally. “If you both fuck it up, then it’s not all your fault.”

 

“Well, she didn’t sleep with another woman,” Clint admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “She wanted to get serious, and I went and jumped into bed with a blonde gymnast I met at a bar. Let me guess; self-sabotage, right?”

 

Gary sighed and put down his cup of coffee. “Okay, I’ll bite. What excuse did you give for sleeping with the gymnast?”

 

“That I thought we were on a break and not exclusive. I mean, that’s what I honestly believed.” Clint never understood why the women he slept with went from casual to Bride’s Magazine’s on the coffee table. He didn’t do anything to make them think he wanted more than someone to date, but they always moved way too fast to the ‘let’s talk about our relationship stage.’ Hell, he’d married Bobbi after knowing her for only a month and look where that had gotten him. “She stormed out and said we were over, so how I was I to know that she’d be pissed off?”

 

“I think we’ve had this discussion before.” Gary tossed Clint a pencil; he snagged out of the air, twirling it along his fingers. “This time, let’s try a different tack. How about instead of an autopsy of what went wrong, we shift gears and think about the relationships you have that are working.”

 

“Um, that would be none.” Clint took the pad of paper from the table and immediately began doodling in the margins. “Not a single one.”

 

“I mean all relationships, not just sexual ones. Take Natasha, for example. You’ve been partners for a long time.” As part of SHIELD’s in house doctors, Gary had access to many of Clint’s past mission files. It used to bother Clint until Gary gave Clint a copy of his SHIELD and Army service records. Turnabout was fair play after all.

 

“Nat? She’s like the other part of me. I trust her with my life.” Clint embellished the arrow he’d draw with curlicues and circles. “There’s no comparison there.”

 

“Trust. Understanding. Those are pretty big elements of a successful relationship,” Gary said. “Did you trust Bobbi?”

 

“Sure. We worked well together in the field.”  That had never been the problem; he and Bobbi could handle almost anything thrown at them. Only Natasha and Phil were better than Bobbi when it came to working as a team. “Outside of work, however, the bed was the only place we clicked. We didn’t really enjoy the same things; hell, at the end, we didn’t even like each other. She took that job at the west coast office without even talking to me about it.”

 

“So she didn’t understand you but Natasha does?” Gary prompted.

 

“Nat puts up with my weirdness. I guess our backgrounds make us more alike than we both will admit. But I don’t want to have sex with her. I mean, I did. At the beginning, but not now.”

 

“You love her, though.” A statement of fact, one Clint couldn’t argue with.

 

“Sure,  but it’s not the same as Bobbi and the others,” Clint argued.

 

“Why? Because you feel sexual desire for one and not the other?” Gary asked.

 

“Well … yeah. That’s what love’s all about.” Clint put down the pencil, unsure of where the therapist was going with this. “See girl, dick gets hard, sleep with girl … relationship”

 

The chime on Gary’s phone went off, signaling the end of the session.  “Okay, that’s what I want you to work on for next time. Make me a list of what you want in a relationship without including sex. Think about the relationships you have that work and pull elements from there. I think we’ve hit on an important point today.”

 

Honestly, Clint thought it was the dumbest thing he’d heard; dating was about sex so it had to be a part of the equation. “What the hell,” he said with a shrug. “Going to be a short list”

 

“Just do what you can.”

* * *

 

“So then he told me to write down what I want in a relationship” Clint spun the stool around, following Natasha’s progress as she crossed the kitchen to the fridge. “Seriously, right? Like that’s going to help.”

 

She took out the eggs and milk, balancing a stick of butter on top “ Sounds like a good idea,” she said, sitting them down next to a metal mixing bowl. “He has a point about the sex thing.”

 

“Aw, not you too.” Clint wanted to bang his head on the countertop, but he’d probably get flour all over him. Natasha was a good baker, but also a messy one.

 

“You equate sex with love, misha.” She dabbed flour on his nose anyway. “Nice boobs and, boom, you’re jumping in with both feet.”

 

“That’s how it works,” he protested  “If Mr. Happy isn’t involved, then it’s friendship.”

 

“Have you ever had a relationship that didn’t start with a one-night stand? Where you got to know the person and then discovered you were attracted to them?” She stirred in each ingredient, puffs of white flour and brown chocolate dotting the counter. “What you need is someone who likes you for you, and not because you have decent arms and a nice ass.”

 

“Decent? I’ll have you know women have waxed poetic about my biceps.” One girl had written an ode to Clint’s arms, but it was rhyming couplets, so Clint didn’t count it. “And I knew Bobbi before we slept together.”

 

“So you didn’t get a hard on for her the first time you saw her?” That one eyebrow arched up and Clint knew he was in for some straight talk. “I hate to break the news to you, but you think with your dick, Clint.”

 

“And?” Clint shrugged. “I really don’t see the problem with being attracted to a person. Isn’t that important?”

 

“There are other kinds of attraction besides physical.” She stirred as she added milk to the mixture. “Let’s try this the easy way. Do you want to be in a relationship? Something permanent or at least longer than the world series?”

 

“Of course I do.” Clint passed her the chocolate and peanut butter chips. “Coming home to an empty place gets old.”

 

“So there you go. Companionship. Living together. Start with that.” Natasha smacked his hand with her wooden spoon as he tried to swipe a fingerful of batter. “And add someone one who bakes. You make a nuisance of yourself when I’m in the kitchen.”

 

“Hey! I’m just waiting to take some warm brownies to Phil. He’s getting back from Oslo today; rumor is the op didn’t go well, so I’m getting some Tom Yum soup and red curry to cheer him up.” Checking his phone, Clint saw a message from Phil that he was in debriefing. “He had Tom’s maple bacon cupcakes with chicken and waffles waiting after Lima.”

 

Natasha’s look cut right through Clint and he felt the chill of her regard run down his spine. “Maybe you should ask Phil for help with the list,” she finally said. “You’ve been friends for a long time.”

 

“Yeah.” Clint liked the idea; Phil Coulson had evolved from his handler to one of two people he trusted with all his secrets. “You’re right. Phil’s good at making lists.”

* * *

 

“So you want to know what I want in a relationship?” The chopsticks stopped halfway to Phil’s mouth, a clump of rice dropping back into the white take out container Phil was holding. “Is this a trick question? You’re not putting my profile on another dating site are you?”

 

“One time, Phil. And you met Jim, remember? The marathon running accountant? You dated for six months or so?” Clint grinned at Phil; he never let Phil forget that detail. “But this is for my therapist; he wants me to make a list based on relationships that work. And I can’t mention sex.”

 

“Ah” Phil ate the bite and chewed thoughtfully. Kicking his feet up on the ottoman, he reached out for another piece of naan.

 

“That’s it? Ah?” Clint demanded. “What does that mean?”

 

“Nothing.” Phil shrugged and scooped a bit of bread into the curry. “So Natasha sent you to me for help.”

 

“How …” Clint should have known; Phil was always four steps ahead. “I bet you have a spreadsheet, don’t you?”

 

“Lots of people think about this,” Phil said. “In fact, most people do.”

 

“Alright, then. Hit me with the top five.” Drawing out his phone, Clint opened his note app, ready to jot things down.

 

“That is so high school, Barton. Copying my homework.” Phil snorted a half laugh and ate another bite. He shook his beer bottle and swallowed the last of the dark brew. “Tell you what. You go first and then I’ll give you one of mine.”

 

Pushing up, Clint wandered into Phil’s galley kitchen, opening the fridge. “Okay, how about this? I hate the ‘you should know me well enough to figure out what I want’ thing. So number one requirement for a relationship: talking instead of expecting intuition.” He grabbed Phil another beer and took it back to the couch, passing it over without comment.

 

“You are a sniper, trained to notice every detail -- maybe they expect you to pay attention to what they like.” Scooping up the last of his favorite red curry, Phil sat the empty carton on the end table and opened the fresh bottle.

 

“After two dates?” Clint shook his head as he picked up the remote, flipping the source to the DVR. “Why couldn’t she just say ‘Will you pump the gas for me?’ instead of getting all huffy when I didn’t jump out of the car?”

 

“Okay, point made.” Phil gave in. “My number five requirement is for someone who understands the job. If they want me home every night by six, it’s never going to work.”

 

“Oh, God, yes. You missed our date three times in a row, Clint. I just can’t take it anymore.”  When he was home maybe one weekend a month and never knew which one, it was difficult to maintain any illusion of stability. “That’s a good one.” Moving the brownies from the breakfast bar to the coffee table, Clint gathered up the boxes from the meal he’d brought and tossed it all in the garbage. “You ready for the game? I’ve been avoiding spoilers for a week so we could watch it together.”

 

“It’s impossible to keep from finding out who won,” Phil said. “I was afraid to even look at a paper.”

 

“That’s another one. Shared interests; I can’t imagine any relationship lasting if she didn’t like basketball.” He started the program. “And dogs. Anyone who doesn’t like dogs is right out.”

 

“Well, since you’re a Lakers fan, I don’t think you can talk.” Phil nudged Clint with his elbow, the point a well-argued one. “But I agree. Basketball. And Captain America.”

 

“Yeah, what was that one guy’s name? The one who wanted you to price the collection, sell it, and use it for your retirement fund?” Clint had known that relationship wasn’t going to work from the second Phil told him that fact. “What did you see in him?”

 

“He gave damn good blow jobs.” Phil tossed that out and grinned. After working ops together for years, they’d lost any inhibition when it came to talking about sex. After they’d watched and listened to each other seduce a mark … and occasionally do more than just get in the room … Clint probably knew more than anyone about Phil’s sex life. Or lack thereof. Phil hadn’t been dating anyone for the last year and a half. “You stayed with car girl for the same reason, remember?”

 

“Oh, her.” Now that was a good thought; she might have been the biggest slob Clint had ever met, but she loved sucking cock. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Hey, maybe that’s another for the list. Has to enjoy giving head.”

 

“No sex, remember?” Phil reminded him. He covered his mouth to hide his yawn.

 

“Damn it.” He wasn’t good at this therapy thing. “Alright, let’s just watched the game so I can stop avoiding Stark.”

 

Phil lasted until the third quarter; the Knicks were rolling over the Bucks, so far ahead that the conclusion was obvious.  Slowly he slumped, his chin coming to rest on his chest, eyes drifting closed. Waiting until Phil was snoring softly, Clint stopped the game and changed the source to the blu-ray player to open Netflix. He’d been catching up on the Parks and Rec episodes; Phil got ahead of him while he was in Brazil last month. Nudging Phil with his socked toe, Clint settled into the corner of the couch, stretching his legs out and putting one of the cushions behind his head.

 

“You’re going to have a crick in your neck,” he said as Phil’s eyes opened. “Go to bed.”

 

“I’m fine,” Phil mumbled.. “This is a good episode; you’ll like it.”

 

Shifting, Phil shifted and laid his head on Clint’s shoulder, straightening his legs and tossing a hand over Clint’s waist. He sighed and slipped back into sleep, his glasses askew. Reaching out, Clint caught the black frames and laid them carefully on the end table; Phil barely moved. After he pressed play, he took a second to jot another entry onto his list: comfortable enough to fall asleep and not always be on guard. That one was going to be hard to find.

* * *

 

“Hey, Merida, I thought you were out with Agent Agent doing geeky things.” Tony strolled across the common room to the refrigerator; dragging out a bunch of kale, Tony began ripping it up and filling the high power blender. “Something about a memorabilia show?”

 

“Phil’s out with Thor and Cap, doing the meet and greet thing with some new recruits,” Clint said, pressing mute. He wasn’t into the movie anyway; the plot was far too convoluted for a sci fi flick. “He went yesterday while I was in Montreal.”

 

“Aw, baby bird all on his own?” Tony grinned as he measured raw sugar and agave syrup. “You and Coulson breaking up?”

 

Clint was used to Tony’s snark; the answer was to not rise to the bait. “Some of us are adults, Stark; we have to work for our money. Now if you’re willing to be my sugar daddy …”

 

With a loud snort, Tony hit a button and sent the mixture whirring; it turned a bright green. “Sorry, but you’re not my type. Rule forty seven: don’t get involved with anyone too much like me. I like to be the center of attention.”

 

“Stark rules of relationships?” Clint sat up straighter and turned his head to look at Tony. “These I’ve got to hear. Wait, let me get my phone open so I can jot them down. Phil will be sorry he missed words of wisdom on dating from Tony Stark.”

 

“Hey, experience counts.” Tony poured the mix into two tall glasses, rinsed out the blender and then carried them over to the sofa, handing one to Clint. “I learned the hard way.”

 

Clint let the terrible pun slide. “Okay, hit me with it.”

 

“Never go to their place on the first date. That way you don’t have to decide if you’re doing the walk of shame the next morning or slipping out while she’s asleep.” Tony dropped onto the loveseat and drank a third of the thick liquid in one go. “Of course it helps if you have Pepper to get rid of them.”

 

“I’m sure she liked that part of the job.” Clint sipped his drink; it wasn’t that bad. The fruit Tony had added overpowered the taste of the kale. “But you don’t have to worry about that now.”

 

“True. Pep gets a different set of rules, like never buy things for her on impulse. I learned that from the bunny fiasco.” Tony shrugged, the giant stuffed animal already history. “And, strangely enough, she keeps coming back no matter what I do. That means she’s a keeper.”

 

A keeper indeed. Clint took a second to jot that one down -- can’t drive them off with stupid behavior. “Same could be said about Rhodey,” Clint said.

 

“I’ve never understood why he puts up with me,” Tony admitted. “Although I do give a damn good blow job, so maybe that’s it”

 

Choking on the swallow of his drink, Clint cleared his throat and stared at Tony. “Wait, you and Rhodey? I thought … I mean, it’s fine, I just …”

 

“Dude, he’s on the list. Pepper lets me have three exceptions.” Tony drained his glass and stood up. “Works for us.”

 

With a shit eating grin, Tony left Clint sputtering on the couch, trying to wrap his head around the notion of best friends Tony and Rhodey having sex.

* * *

 

“You know, don’t you?” Clint leaned against the granite countertop and watched Phil knead the round of dough. “Who’s on Tony’s exception list.”

 

People might think that Phil didn’t have a tell, but Clint knew exactly how his left cheek smoothed out and his lip crinkled. The man knew everything; Clint just had to get him to spill the beans.

 

“Why you insist on thinking I’m omnipotent, I’ll never know,” Phil replied calmly. He sprinkled a layer of raisins and started folding them in. “I personally don’t care who Tony is or is not sleeping with.”

 

“Ah, so he’s had sex with at least one more of the three.” This, Clint was good at. Deciphering Phil speak. “Female?”  Phil didn’t answer, just kept kneading, adding bits of dried pineapples. But no response was a response. “Male then. Let’s see … someone at SHIELD? No, that doesn’t make sense. Got to be someone in the Tower.” Phil punched the dough, leaving knuckle prints. “The Tower it is.” Clint thought about it for a minute. “Can’t be Cap; he still carries that picture of Peggy around with him and he’s obsessed with finding Bucky. Hey, that’s another one for the list; someone who will mourn me like Steve mourns Peggy.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and added it to his ongoing note. “So that leaves … oh my God. Bruce? Bruce and Tony? Can Bruce even, I mean, heart rate, right?”

 

“From what I hear, Tony’s got that figured out.” Phil smiled as he rolled out the dough and started cutting squares. “You know how he is when there’s a problem to solve.”

 

“Bruce and Rhodey. And Pepper.” Clint shook his head, unable to fathom how Tony managed it. “I wonder who the third is? Can’t be Natasha because Tony’s scared of her …” He looked at Phil’s raised eyebrow and stopped cold. “No. Not Natasha. I refuse to believe it.”

 

“You’re assuming it’s Tony who put her on the list.” Phil dangled that little tidbit in front of him.

 

“Not Tony … oh, holy hell, Pepper? Natasha and Pepper?” How the hell didn’t he know that? “Damn. Double damn. I’ll have to give Nat grief about it.”

 

“Hasn’t happened yet, but it’s on the wish list,” Phil said. He opened the oven and put the first pan of scones inside. “And if you tell Pepper I told you, I’ll kill you with this spatula.”

 

“Trust me on this one; I don’t know who’s scarier, Potts or Nat.” Strong women who could take him down in a heartbeat? Yeah, Clint knew when to bow out and keep his mouth shut. “So who’s Pepper’s other two? Hey, I bet one of them is you!”

 

“What?” Phil turned to look at him, surprise coloring his eyes. “Me?”

 

“Well, duh. You saved her life and she likes you. Plus you’re hot and a real catch. Why not?” Clint didn’t understand Phil’s doubt in his own worth. The man was ridiculously competent, could kill someone with a paper clip, and looked great in his worn t-shirt and black rimmed hipster glasses.

 

“You have an over inflated sense of what women like,” Phil said. “A middle aged, balding man with a job that keeps him away from home most of the time isn’t it.”

 

“Oh, come on, Phil. You’re so perfect you match those checklists in women’s magazines, the ones Darcy’s always reading out loud. You know ‘bakes homemade scones in your favorite flavor just because? Grab that guy!’ articles. Let’s see, you’re monogamous, make a good salary, care about people’s feelings, stand up for your friends, put other’s needs first … yep, you are a pure cinnamon roll, too good for this world.” Clint grinned at Phil’s confusion. “That’s Darcy’s latest title; she’s declared Steve and Bucky to be cinnamon rolls.”

 

Phil shook his head. “Don’t put me in the same category as those two. Plus, those are lists for what a woman wants. I’m looking for the right guy.”

 

“Jesus, Phil, take a compliment. Hell, I’d date you if I wouldn’t fuck things up and drive you away.” Clint started to laugh but then he caught the look that flittered through Phil’s eyes. The import of his words sank in; he was such a freaking idiot.

 

“Pot, kettle. You can’t complain about me and then down yourself.” Phil got that serious tone in his voice, the one he used when Clint was being especially dense. “You just have to find the right girl.”

 

The right girl. Good God, but Clint had been as blind as the proverbial bat. “Maybe,” Clint managed to say in the midst of his sudden existential crisis. Where the hell had he been while this had happened? “Isn’t it time for the pre-game?”

 

Phil raised his eyebrow, aware Clint was changing the subject. “A little early, but feel free to turn the TV on. I’ll be right back. If the buzzer goes off, check the scones for me.”

 

“Will do,” Clint agreed. He watched as Phil walked back the hallway in his SHIELD sweatpants and socked feet. Not moving, Clint was frozen by the realization that overtook him.

 

He was dating Phil Coulson and had been for years.

* * *

 

“Um, do you have a minute?” Clint paused in the doorway of the lab; he’d waited until Bruce sat back, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “Sorry to bother you, but I don’t know who else to talk to about this.”

 

“Oh, hey.” Bruce blinked and took a second to focus on Clint. “Sure, yeah. Ask away.”

 

Clint perched on one of the stools, took over a breath and launched into it. “You and Tony. You were friends first, right?”

 

“Ah, um, what? Tony?” Bruce stumbled his words, a blush rising in his face. “I … we’re … yeah. I didn’t know it was public knowledge.”

 

“Tony told me about the Pepper’s exceptions; it was pretty easy to extrapolate from there.” Clint felt vaguely sorry for embarrassing Bruce but then the man was sleeping with Tony, so he should be used to it by now. “So how did you go from friends to …? Isn’t that weird?”

 

“Is this about the relationship list?” Bruce turned the tables on Clint with one question. “Sorry, but you talked about it in the common room. Tony thinks that’s fair game.”

 

“Sort of,” Clint admitted. “I think I’ve gotten things backwards; I always thought that sex came first, but now I’m not sure.”

 

“Ah.” The corner of Bruce’s mouth turned up. “Sexual desire versus romantic desire. Most people start with sex and want romance to develop later because that’s how movies and books portray it.”

 

“But don’t you have to feel that punch of lust for things to work? I mean, what if I don’t ... ?” Clint shrugged helplessly.

 

“I try to avoid strong emotions as a rule,” Bruce joked. “Honestly, I’ve always dated first. Took six months before I asked Betty to get coffee.”

 

“Right.” This wasn’t helping Clint at all. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll let you get back to work.”

 

“Clint.” Bruce put a hand on Clint’s arm as he started to rise. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

 

“Uh, sure. I mean, I started it.”

 

“Are we talking about Phil or Natasha?”

 

Of course Bruce would jump to that conclusion; Clint didn’t have that many close friends. For a second, he hesitated, but Bruce was good at keeping confidences. “Phil,” Clint admitted.

 

“If you want my advice, for what it’s worth, I’d say go talk to him.” With a half smile, Bruce let his hand fall away. “Phil seems like he’d handle it.”

 

“Is that what Tony did?” Clint couldn’t imagine Tony sitting down and talking about a relationship.

 

“Actually, I did the talking.” Bruce’s cheeks got red again. “Pepper gave me the green light and I pretty much took the initiative.”

 

“Oh.” For some reason, Clint found that funny. He began to chuckle. “I really need to stop making assumptions about people. Been hit over the head lately with just how clueless I am.”

 

“Surprised me too,” Bruce agreed. “So you’re not alone.”

* * *

 

“Alright, spill it.” Phil grabbed the remote and muted the sound on the rerun they were watching. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you. You’re as prickly as a porcupine.”

 

Clint knew that was true. He’d spent the whole afternoon avoiding looking straight at Phil, afraid that somehow Phil would see the turmoil going on in Clint’s head.  His biggest fear was destroying their longstanding friendship with his midlife crisis; Phil was more important than that.

 

“Right. Sorry.”  He was a coward when it came to this stuff, sharing feelings. “So, I have this friend who’s struggling with some … newfound feelings. He, um, realized that what he thought was friendship might be, um, more than that. And he doesn’t know what to do about it.”

 

One eyebrow arched and Phil looked at Clint for a moment before a smile spread across his face. “Steve finally realized he’s in love with Bucky? Tell me that hard headed idiot got a clue.”

 

“Steve and Bucky?” Clint replied, shocked by the thought. “Steve’s not gay. Neither is Bucky. And Peggy …”

 

“Oh Steve loved Peggy, but it’s always been Bucky. Didn’t you read that biography I gave you?” Phil said. “It’s about time those two got it together.”

 

Okay, Clint hadn’t read the book; in his defense, he didn’t have much time to read with the Avengers stuff now. “It’s not Steve,” he announced, louder than he intended. “It’s me.”

 

Phil’s smile faltered and disappeared. “You? Was it the Pepper and Natasha thing that made you change your mind? I thought you were acting strange after that conversation. Well, you should talk to her; I don’t know what she’ll say but I think …”

 

“No,” Clint interrupted, “it’s not Nat. It’s you, Phil.”

 

Dead silence. Phil opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again but said nothing. He took off his glasses, cleaned them with the edge of his t-shirt, and put then on again. Finally, he said, “Me?”

 

“Yeah, you.” Clint’s heart was racing like he was in the middle of a battle, his muscles trembling slightly. “Look, I don’t want to upset the apple cart here -- this thing we do, hanging out, eating, watching games, being comfortable -- I really like it and want to keep it. It’s just this stupid list; I realized that you match every single one of the requirements. Damn it, Phil, we’re dating and I’ve been such a big idiot not to see it before now.”

 

“Okay.” Phil took a calming breath and trying to clear the emotion from his face; he failed. Surprise, disbelief and a bit of something else lurked in the corners of his eyes. “I can see where you got that idea. I’ve thought about it myself; Don said when we broke up that I spent more time with you than I did with him.”

 

“Exactly.” It made complete sense to Clint. “I’ve been breaking my relationships into two parts; sex with the women and the rest of it with you.”

 

“So what are you saying? If you don’t want to stop … this thing … then what?” Phil asked.

 

“Maybe … we could … you know … try to put it all together? … If you want to … If you don’t that’s okay … we’ll just forget this conversation ever happened … and go back to what we were doing ... “ The words came out broken, in fast pulses that exploded and receded. “I’m not sure … but what I’m doing isn’t working … and I know … you’re really important to me … “  He trailed off, waiting for Phil to say something, to do anything.

 

“I don’t know if I can.” Phil closed his eyes and sighed.

 

“Okay. No problem.” God, this was a trainwreck; Clint mentally berated himself for opening his mouth. “Forget it.”

 

“No, it’s not okay.” Phil reached out, his hand tentatively resting on Clint’s forearm. “I don’t know if I can because I’m not sure I can handle failure. I want … God, Clint, you have to be the only one who doesn’t know how I feel about you. Even Tony figured it out.”

 

“I thought all the jokes were just Tony being an asshole.” Clint felt the tiniest bit of hope spring up in his chest that he hadn’t screwed up one of the best things in his life. “You know I’m completely in the dark when it comes to this shit. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

 

“I didn’t think you were interested in men; it was always women you got involved with,” Phil said. “You said you were a tits and ass man.”

 

“I’ve been with guys,” Clint protested. “Five, in fact.”

 

“Missions don’t count,” Phil retorted. “Kissing someone to get in their hotel room isn’t the same thing.”

 

“Okay, first, missions do count. That one A.I.M. scientist in Morocco was hot; I didn’t have to fake a hard on for him, so that proves something. And, secondly, there’s still two guys outside of missions. I’ll admit it was blow jobs and hands, but that’s sex.” It had been awhile, Clint thought, at least ten years, but he was sure he was bi.

 

“I don’t give you the same reaction you had to that gymnast or the girl with the car or Bobbi or any of the others,” Phil argued.

 

“That’s the point, Phil. Damn it, every time I think with my dick, I end up alone again. I’m trying to change that, to think with my heart instead. Sex first, love second hasn’t worked for me; time to start with someone I love and see where that goes.”

 

Phil’s eyes widened and he clenched his fingers around Clint’s arm. “Did you just …”

 

He had. The word had tumbled out of his mouth with such a sense of rightness that Clint didn’t stop it.  “Yeah. I think I did.” He snorted a half laugh. “Clueless, that’s me. I’m freaking in love with you, and I’m never even kissed you. Who does something like that?”

 

“Me.” Phil turned. “I’ve known for a good two years now.”

 

“Maybe,” Clint’s voice dropped lower, “we ought to do something about it?”

 

“We should.”

 

They both closed the short distance, hesitating just inches away, then brushing their lips together, nice and easy. Clint wasn’t sure what he expected, but there were no fireworks, no flush of heat, no sense of urgency, no rush to get naked. Instead, a slow warmth seeped into him from where their lips touched, a sense of contentment. Like an alignment of pieces that fit, they broke the kiss and pulled back, both opening their eyes to look at each other. Clint couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face or the happiness that settle in his chest when Phil answered with one of his own.

 

“No hurry, right?” Clint asked. He shifted closer to Phil, snuggling up to Phil’s side. “We can take this slow?”

 

“As slow as you want,” Phil replied, resting his arm on the back of the couch so Clint could lay his head on Phil’s shoulder.

 

“Good.”

* * *

 

Not that he’d ever tell Tony, but Clint actually liked living in the Tower. Dragging his ass home from a cluster fuck of a mission, body aching, he didn’t have to think at all, just shuffle into the elevator and then through the door of his apartment, dropping his bag on the floor. JARVIS had everything ready for him -- fridge filled with his favorite drinks and temperature just how it liked it. The only thing missing was …

 

“You look exhausted,” Phil said, rising from the couch and laying his book aside. “What do you want first:  the dumplings or a hot shower?”

 

“Both sound great.” Clint shrugged out of his tac vest and left it draped across the back of a dining room chair. “But I’ll go for the shower; I spent eighteen hours in the hot sun on a tar covered rooftop next to an industrial smokestack. Clean wins.”

 

He sat down to untie his boots; once they were off, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to get back up, but Phil was there, tucking his hands under Clint’s arms and helping him stand. “I’ve got you,” Phil murmured in his ear.

 

They’d done this many times before, been there for each other after a particularly bad run. No need to talk, just hot food and companionship to drive back the nightmares. No need to pretend to be okay or worry about showing weakness. He could let go and rest.

 

Phil followed him into the bathroom, starting the water and letting it heat up.  Stripping down, Clint was too tired to feel awkward; it had only been four weeks since the conversation, as Clint thought of it, and most of that Clint had spent tracking down rumors that A.I.M. was in the market for a smart fusion bomb. That’s why he’d found himself in the middle of an unexpected  terrorist cell in the French countryside. Bless whoever came up with the idea of multiple body jets; Clint stepped into the cross spray and felt the heat hit him full force. His muscles started to relax as the steam began to crawl up the tile.

 

“You going to stand out there or are you going to join me?” Clint didn’t look, just turned his head up and let the water stream over his face. He felt the whoosh of cool air when the door opened, and then soapy hands ran up his spine and over his back. Fingers dug into the flesh around his shoulder blades, kneading until the tightness released. With a groan, Clint spread a palm on the wall and rested his weight on it as Phil massaged his back.

 

Clint dropped his other hand and captured one of Phil’s as it circled near his waist. Moving it across slick skin, he slid it down to his flaccid cock, cupping himself in Phil’s palm. Slow and easy, Phil stroked along the vee where Clint’s leg met his torso, a light tickle of his balls and and an errant brush against the underside of his cock. Closing his eyes, Clint focused on the feeling, forgetting the blood and violence, replacing it with the sound of Phil’s breaths in his ear and the steady patter of drops hitting tile.

 

Heat curled up from his groin, a comfort to more than just his physical aches because it was Phil’s hand around him, Phil’s body behind his, Phil’s lips that kissed his neck. His cock hardened and he jerked his hips; when he tipped over the edge, he moaned Phil’s name. Before he could turn around, Phil had him pinned to the wall and was thrusting against his back, groan coming quickly.

 

“I could have taken care of that for you,” Clint mumbled. Sleep was sneaking up on him now in the afterglow of shower and sex.

 

“Next time. I’ll heat up the food and have a plate ready when you get out,” Phil said, turning off the water.

 

The dumplings had to wait; Clint fell asleep on the couch before Phil even got them in the microwave. He surfaced later in his bed, wrapped in Phil’s arms, snuggled deeper into the comforter, then slid back into slumber.

* * *

 

Clint checked his phone again; no new texts since Phil’s last one declaring he would send word as soon as he got out of the last meeting. Almost an hour had passed since Clint had sat down on the bar stool in the small Italian restaurant to wait. Tonight they were celebrating their seven month anniversary, a milestone since Clint’s longest relationship had been his six and a half months with Bobbi. But the Asgardians who appeared at SHIELD to hunt down an escaped prisoner didn’t care; they only knew to ask for the Son of Coul as a mediator. Thus, Phil being trapped at HQ instead of eating pasta with Clint.,

 

Taking a sip of his whiskey, Clint glanced in the mirror, passing the time with his favorite game of reveal the secrets. He’d already decided the middle-aged couple by the front window were planning their divorce and the foursome in the quiet booth at the back were spouse swapping. Down at the end of the bar was a woman whose date hadn’t shown yet … had to be the first one from the way she was tapping her fingers angrily on the wood. A pretty blonde with long hair in curling waves, she had a banging hot body, the hourglass kind that Clint had always preferred. With each minute that passed, she was getting closer to leaving. Her eyes lifted and she made contact with his. After a moment of indecision, she hopped off her stool and moved her drink to sit by him.

 

“You been stood up too?” she asked, swirling the last of the martini in her glass. “You were here when I came in forty five minutes ago. I can’t believe he didn’t show; I really liked him and thought he was a good guy.”

 

“He might be caught in traffic or something,” Clint said. He motioned the bartender over. “Another for both of us,” he told the girl when she arrived.

 

“Thanks,” the woman beside him replied. “Honestly, I’m so put out with the whole dating thing. I hoped the move and new job would give me a fresh start, but nothing’s changed. I think things are good and then, BAM, he calls it off.”  She drained the glass in front of her and swapped it for the fresh one. “I might as well just admit the inevitable and get a few more cats.”

 

“Hey, no need to go crazy cat lady yet.” Clint discreetly checked his phone again. “The good ones are worth waiting for. Trust me on that one.”

 

“Yeah?” She eyed him up and down, a slow crawl of his body from his slim fit dark washed jeans up to his grey thermal henley. “Are you a good one? Want to finish our drinks then have the next one at my place?”

 

This was it, the moment Clint had wondered about, had dreaded. He braced himself for the rush of lust, the hard ache that flooded his cock and took his brain off line. If he fell back into his old pattern, he’d take her home, they’d barely make it to the couch before he’d be inside of her in a heated rush to a climax. Then he’d awkwardly extricate himself and slouch back to the Tower, knowing he’d fucked his life up beyond repair.

 

The punch never came. Sure, she was hot and pretty and attractive -- his gut did a little flip flop -- and she was his type. But she wasn’t Phil; his heart was too full of him to make room for anyone else.

 

“As much as I appreciate the offer, I have to say no. Phil’s caught at work but he’ll be here,” he explained. “He works in law enforcement and is never on time.”

 

“Ah.” Her face fell and then she chuckled. “I understand crazy hours; I’m an ER doctor. In fact, that’s why I had such hope for this date; he’s a pediatric trauma nurse with the same problem.”

 

“Maybe that’s where he is?” Clint asked. Now that the refusal was out there, the awkwardness was gone.

 

“Why wouldn’t he text? He has my number.” She shook her head. “Nope, he ditched me.”

 

They talked for awhile longer, Clint finding out her name was Angela, and she had bought the third floor condo in Phil’s building. After that, he told her about the best burger places and the hole-in-the-wall 24 hour Chinese delivery place. They had just moved on to the grocery stores with the freshest produce when Phil arrived and Clint introduced their new neighbor. Not ten minutes later, a handsome black man dashed in, still in hospital scrubs. He almost fell on his knees begging her forgiveness and was appalled to learn he’d been sending his texts to the wrong number. Watching the two of them head to a table, Clint felt a calm fall over him.

 

“Hey, Phil,” he said quietly. At his tone, Phil stilled and turned to look at him. “Let’s get our dinner to go. Take me home.”

 

As soon as they were in the door, he sat the bag of food on the kitchen counter and pressed Phil against the nearest wall, kissing him until neither one of them could breathe. Then he dragged Phil to the bedroom and peeled each item of clothing off one by one; they lay on the bed for a long time, exploring with hands and mouths and tongues. Rolling to the bedside table, Clint dug out a condom and the lube handing them to Phil with a smile.

 

“Please?” he begged, stretching out on his back and tugging Phil towards him.

 

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” Phil said.

 

“I didn’t either.” Clint couldn’t find the words to explain what he was feeling. “But I do now. With you.” As wise as ever, Phil didn’t push the subject; later he’d ask about the woman at the bar. But right now, he looked into Clint’s eyes and saw the truth.

 

It wasn’t comfortable, those questing fingers inside him, but then Phil brushed the right spot and a liquid pleasure spread along Clint’s spine. He floated on it as Phil pushed his cock in and began a slow rhythm that rocked Clint into a bliss he’d never experienced before. Each thrust was another wave and he rode them right back to Phil. Then Phil’s hand stroked him and he slammed into his orgasm, coming in a long release.

 

“You okay?” Phil asked when they were cleaned up.

 

“Yeah, Phil. I’m more than okay.” Clint tugged him down to kiss him slowly and thoroughly. “I love you. Next time, I want to try being on top. Bet I can hit it every single time.”

 

Phil grinned then laughed, his rich baritone filling the room. “What am I going to do with you, Barton?”

 

“Keep me forever, I hope.”


End file.
